


Cenote

by entallat



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Action, Angst, F/F, Gen, Suspense, Vulcan, Vulcan Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entallat/pseuds/entallat
Summary: Trip dives into danger in order to save a Vulcan child.
Relationships: T'Pol & Charles "Trip" Tucker III, T'Pol/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 39
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The events of this story take place only a few days after the last scene of “Terra Prime” (and the true end of the series, IMHO) so, naturally, spoilers for everything, but mostly “Terra Prime”.
> 
> Note: Malcolm doesn't make an appearance until nearly the end of the story in Chapter Five but, because of the nature of the story and the fact that I began this long ago during "Drown Malcolm Month", it seemed only fitting that he should, even if only briefly.
> 
> Thank you to Aquarius for her workshopping help years ago, and to my beta for this story, Panyasan.
> 
> Thank you too, to all my readers over the years. I began this story as mere notes in 2010 and as a scribbled outline and fully fledged idea in 2011 thanks to The Delphic Expanse. Then life - family passings, new jobs, hurricanes and history - happened. If it wasn't for the enthusiasm of fanfic readers I wouldn't have come back to it after ten years.

oOo

Charles “Trip” Tucker leaned against a smooth stone pillar and stared out over the Vulcan landscape from under the sheltering shade of a massive rock ledge. From this lofty vantage point he could see several small towns spread out below the mountain and, farther in the distance, the hazy spires of the capital city Shi'Kahr wavered in the mid-day heat. A transport ship, nearly invisible against the sky because of the distance, slowly and laboriously lifted from the western edge of the city and into the atmosphere. As he watched it disappear, a swirl of hot wind made him shut his eyes against blowing sand and he fumbled to rein in the fluttering edges of the Vulcan robes he was wearing.

Behind him, just inside the temple’s entrance, he could hear the Vulcan priest saying something to what was left of the… he frowned. _What had T'Pol called it? A_ _kat'ryar_ , _kat'ritan_?

He winced. _Honor guard_. That’s what it was - a Vulcan honor guard of dignitaries for a tiny innocent.

Oddly, the thought didn’t bring a tear to his eyes. Ever since that private moment in T'Pol’s quarters – _was it really only six days ago?_ – he hadn’t felt the urge to cry again, though he was beginning to wish he could. He shifted uncomfortably against the pillar at the thought. It wasn’t an inability to feel something that was bugging him; in fact, it was the opposite. Since just after Archer’s speech to the planetary representatives, he’d felt weary and worn out, but on edge. The same sort of anger that had bubbled up inside him after his sister’s death was threatening to do the same now and he didn’t know what to do. He acknowledged their baby’s death. He’d cried. He’d talked to the psychologist from Starfleet Medical. He’d done the social rituals for two different cultures – two different _species_ on two different _planets_ if someone wanted to get technical about it.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The Vulcan priests hadn’t seemed to know what to do with him, other than to acknowledge his presence and part in the ritual as the baby’s father. They weren’t unkind, just… at a loss. Now that it was over, they spoke to T'Pol. Trip’s gaze shifted from the tall, severe looking man in priest’s robes to T'Pol’s pale face. She seemed so small in her heavy mourning robes. Part of him thought he should be there, by her side or even in front, shielding her from others. But another part of him realized that she needed this contact with other Vulcans, to deal with this in the way that Vulcans dealt with this sort of thing.

He closed his eyes and tried some deep breathing. He was beginning to appreciate the quiet way Vulcans grieved, a welcome change from the countless “I’m-so-sorries” and flowing tears that had dominated the past week. Sorry didn’t make it better. Sorry didn’t bring either Elizabeth back to life.

Neither did the rituals and the fire pits, but at least the Vulcans had let him be.

He felt like he was suffocating inside, unable to breathe. It was as if he was reaching for something, like he needed some other kind of … _oh hell_ , he didn’t even know _what_ it was that he needed. At this point, he’d welcome the worn out, numb and weary feeling he’d had during the meeting with the planetary representatives on Earth. This new feeling carried with it molten pools of rage in the pit of his soul. He’d been here before, and he knew neuropressure wasn’t going to get him out of this dangerous place this time.

“I grieve with thee.”

The sound of another voice startled him out of his spiraling thoughts and he tore his eyes away from T'Pol to find himself staring at V'Lar, who had left the small circle of Vulcan dignitaries to join him at the entrance to the monastery. Hers had been one of only two faces he’d recognized - Vulcan’s new leader, T'Pau, being the other. Soval had attended the memorial services on Earth, where he and other diplomats were forging ahead with conference talks to create a coalition of planets. T'Pol had mentioned nothing about any of her extended family planning to attend this ritual and Trip wasn’t sure if he was in the frame of mind to remember them if they had.

He blinked, realizing he was still staring at the elderly Vulcan woman. He wasn’t sure who had asked for V'Lar to be here, but he felt suddenly grateful for her presence.

“Thanks,” he finally managed to say. His throat felt dry with the words.

If V'Lar thought anything of his odd behavior, her kind, round face didn’t show it. She seemed more tired than the last time he’d seen her, and she moved more slowly and carefully than he remembered, too. Briefly he wondered how the turmoil of the last several years on Vulcan had been affecting her life.

“You are staying on Vulcan?”

He nodded. “For a few days.”

“I would be most pleased if the two of you would visit with me in my home…”

The idea of trying to be social right now spurred a new sense of anxiety, but she smoothly added, before he could make some kind of excuse, “…when you are able and desire the company.”

He nodded again, the surge of emotion receding as quickly as it had bubbled up. V'Lar’s mix of warmth, firmness, and disarming charm reminded him of his own grandmother and he suspected that “No” wouldn’t be accepted as an answer. The thought was a bit comforting, and the fierce burn that had been building up in his gut began to fade back to glowing embers.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Behind them he could hear light footsteps approach and knew, even before V'Lar turned to take her leave, that it was T'Pol. The two women spoke quietly in Vulcan for a few minutes before V’Lar walked away. Further down the path in front of him he could see a middle-aged Vulcan woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to V'Lar, waiting. Her daughter, perhaps?

 _Daughter_. The very word was like pressing the open in his soul and he blinked with the sudden pain.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see T'Pol move to stand nearer to him, and they both watched in silence as V'Lar departed. The former diplomat chose her footsteps carefully, her younger companion providing an arm for support, as both descended the steep gravel path that wound away from the entrance to the temple. Trip knew from his own arrival this morning that it led to a small landing pad hidden from view some meters below.

Behind them, a gentle rustling of fabric announced the retreat of the somber priests into the depths of the monastery.

Suddenly they were alone again, for the first time in days.

T'Pol glanced up at him with a breath that seemed to have a question behind it. But she too was struggling with something – he could feel it – and the moment vanished into the dry mountain air. The silence hung there, as heavy as the rock ledge overhead and more awkward with each passing moment. Trip desperately searched for something to fill it but everything he wanted to say was tinged with anger at the universe.

He needed to say something, no – to _do_ something – but he felt as immobile as the stone edifices that surrounded them.


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

They stood there in silence for a long while, watching the spires of the distant city shimmer and shift, and long, thin clouds float past the upper reaches of the mountainside monastery. 

Over T’Pol’s shoulder Trip could see a vast area - a little hazy at this distance but its features still clearly distinct - surrounded by a low, ornately carved stone wall. Inside this expanse was a multitude of spectacular-looking plants, tall rock formations, and winding pathways.

Suddenly desperate for something other than silence, he nodded at the enclosed area. “What’s that?”

“It’s a preserve.” If Trip didn’t know better he’d say she was relieved to engage in something that amounted to innocuous small talk. 

“As you know, aside from a few small seas, there is little surface water on Vulcan.” T’Pol continued as if she was at her station on the bridge of _Enterprise_ , though her voice was soft. “As such, most reservoirs are underground in extensive cave systems. This area is home to one of the major aquifers that nourishes the Shi’Kahr province and was set aside as a wilderness preserve many years ago.”

T’Pol paused for a moment, and then inclined her head at the path that wound down and away from the monastery. “This way. You can see it better from a platform some meters below.”

Trip nodded and followed her down the path and past the small landing pad. A warm breeze tossed his hair and made him squint as they walked. 

As they made their descent, Trip could feel his breathing speed up and his heart rate rise. It didn’t seem to matter that he was a trained, and fit, Starfleet officer. Vulcan’s thinner atmosphere and heavier gravity always reminded him that he’d grown up at Earth's sea level. At least T’Pol had set a comfortable pace that didn’t leave him winded right away.

Trip glanced at her. They hadn’t spoken much, not since that moment in her quarters when he’d tearfully told her what Phlox had discovered. Learning that Elizabeth had died because of a flaw in the cloning process that Paxton’s doctors used, and that a Vulcan-Human child was possible, she’d taken his hand. 

Now, she looked lost in thought, though still sort of… fragile. He turned his attention back to the path. Now that he knew what to listen for, he could feel her in the back of his mind, like a tune that he couldn’t forget. The analogy brought the barest tug of a smile to the corner of his mouth. _Yeah_ , he thought, _that fit her — a tune he couldn’t forget_. He sneaked another peek at her, walking beside him.

The psychic bond they now clearly shared was both comforting and a source of confusion and anxiety. There were moments when he felt a calm that he knew wasn’t his own, but that he was grateful for. Likewise, there were moments, especially in the last six days, of a sort of kindred mental presence that made him feel less alone in the aftermath of everything that had just happened. Other times… well, he was beginning to wonder if the red-hot rage bubbling in his breast was _entirely_ his. 

Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure what was real or imagined from moment to moment. Moreover, he suspected that T’Pol, being inexperienced with the previously taboo subject of Vulcan psychic abilities, was struggling with the extra burden of a very un-Vulcan mental presence. Trip had no idea how to help. 

As the landscape below came into clearer view, he could now see hundreds of sinkholes, some larger or smaller than others, scattered about across the plains, and continuing throughout what looked like limestone uplifts.

A flash of color caught his eye and he stopped walking. Placing a hand on T’Pol’s shoulder to get her attention, he raised his eyebrows and indicated a spot right at the cliff edge of the path with a nod of his head.

They moved closer, to peer over a small rise of rock into what appeared to be a small infinity edge pool of water, glowing red to a deep purple from edge to edge and perhaps only a few meters across in each direction. A streak of vibrant green meandered through it and appeared to disappear into the sky. 

“It’s a _taivotik muzh_ ,” T’Pol said. “Literally, a bacterial pool. The minerals in the pool create the reds you see and the bacteria create the flow of green.” 

To the left and right of the pool, Trip could now clearly see the plateau below where the preserve sprawled. They’d walked almost all the way down the side of the mountain and he could no longer see the farthest ends of the wall, but he could still see over it. He could also see what appeared to be interpretive signage or kiosks scattered about, and at least one Vulcan family on an outing. 

He was suddenly struck by a feeling of nostalgia and familiarity, despite the fact that this was an alien landscape to him. 

“Reminds me of some places in Arizona or Nevada. Or Yellowstone.” Trip nodded his head at the horizon and leaned against the small rise of rock, watching the family in the preserve move to another kiosk. “I wonder what all this looked like millions of years ago.” 

“Likely it appeared very much as it did just a few thousand years ago. This landscape was created rapidly after the wars that led to The Time of Awakening.”

Trip frowned. “Vulcans did this?”

“Not directly. The plateau’s topography is karst – various soluble carbonate rocks. Thus the presence of the aquifers. It, and other areas like it, were strategic targets during the wars that preceded The Awakening.”

“Cut off the water supply…”

“Precisely. The destruction of the protective uplifts and some upper strata left this layer more exposed, and centuries of acidic rain following the wars created this particular landscape.”

“Wow.”

Silence fell again between them as he scanned the horizon. Some of the openings were difficult to see, tiny holes that slid sideways under layers of rock and plants. Others were wide but deep, with steep sides leading to the water. A few were right at the surface, glassy in appearance until small breezes disturbed their surfaces enough that they glittered in the afternoon glare.

The family he’d spotted was now approaching one of the smaller surface ones. It was reddish-orange, and shimmering multi colors in the light. A small ridge encircled one half of the edge while the rest was enclosed by an ornate iron railing. The colors seemed to both blend into and pop from the plateau itself.

Trip pointed. “That one reminds me of a blue hole.” 

T’Pol arched an eyebrow. “Blue hole.”

“A geologic feature on Earth.” He watched as the small family group of Vulcans approached the feature he was talking about. “Literally a hole – a vertical marine cave or sinkhole underwater. Blue, instead of red like that because they’re in Earth’s oceans. There are some similar features on land, called cenotes. They’re both popular with experienced divers.”

“You’re an experienced diver. An instructor, correct?”

Trip nodded. “Yeah. I was Capt’n Archer’s instructor.” He smiled a bit. “In fact, I took Jon on a dive into Devil’s Hole.”

“Devil’s Hole.”

“That one’s in Nevada.” Trip said. “Not to be confused with Devil’s Hole in Bermuda, or Devil’s Hole in Gainesville, where my family used to go some weekends durin’ the summer. People have been rope-swingin’ there for nearly two hundred years.” Seeing her expression, he actually chuckled for the first time in what felt like centuries. “Rope swingin’. It’s a … a…uh… you know, we outta just visit Earth sometime so I can show you.” 

He charged ahead before she could answer that invitation. “Anyway, The one in Bermuda… the collapsed roof of the cave makes some eerie sounds via the tides so…” he nodded. “Hence the name.” 

Trip watched the Vulcan family – a couple and their young son – consult an information padd next to the still pool, then turned to face T’Pol.

“I dove a couple of the marine sinkholes in Belize too, includin’ the Great Blue Hole, and Dean’s Blue Hole in the Bahamas. Dove a few cenotes in the Yucatan. Lots of caves too. Cave diving’s popular where I grew up. North-central Florida has lots of springs that are openings into the aquifer.” He realized he was babbling now, maybe about a different kind of loss, but he couldn’t stop himself. “There’s one near Tallahassee that spans two counties. I dove that one from Wakulla Springs, just before I left for Starfleet.”

“It sounds… intriguing.”

“It’s somethin’… that’s for sure.” He regarded her with a faint smile, “You’ve seen Wakula Springs.”

“I have never been to Florida.”

He nodded. “Movie night.”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow.

He leaned on his side against the rise of rock and looked up at her. “ _Creature from the Black Lagoon_ , and the all three of the _Tarzan_ movies you saw.”

“Those were filmed near your home?”

“At Wakulla Springs, yes.” He paused for a moment, remembering, and then continued. “The places off the beaten path are really nice but it can be a dangerous sport.” He glanced back at the preserve for a moment, then ducked his head. “You don’t have to be a diver to appreciate them though. They’re beautiful from the surface.”

T’Pol nodded, thoughtfully. “I would like to see one someday.”

That was the opening he both needed and dreaded.

Trip straightened up and, taking a deep breath, turned to face T’Pol. “And I’d like to show you. But T’Pol … I… I…” _Well, damn_. Now that he knew what he wanted to say, he had no idea how to say it. 

He scanned the sky as if it would help him discover words for something that was more feeling than thought. Finally, he said the only thing that he could drag out of his swirling thoughts. “I gotta know… where are we now? _What_ are we now?” 

They’d been listed as parents in one classified report to Starfleet after the Xindi mission, but one could argue that Lorian had never happened once they’d changed the timeline. There was no arguing that Elizabeth had existed though, and the entire known galaxy was aware that the two of them were her biological parents. But beyond that, what were they? 

“I feel like we keep startin’ over, startin’ at the beginnin’.” He looked at her again. “And every time we have to start over, we’re right back to tiptoein’ around each other like perpetual teenagers.”

T’Pol nodded but stayed silent, toying with the edge of her sleeve.

Trip pressed on. Even if it hurt like hell, it was now or never. “Look. When I found out about the baby … when I saw her for the first time … I thought of us as a family.”

“As did I.”

That simple admission from her lifted about twenty tons of weight that had settled somewhere around his heart. His vision blurred a bit as he struggled again to find the words to speak about something deeper than the landscape around them.

For a moment it looked like T’Pol would save him from having to. She’d straightened up and taken a breath as if to say something, but suddenly stopped, her gaze going over his shoulder as if she’d heard something. _Vulcan hearing_. He twisted around to follow her suddenly concerned gaze.

There was an even larger group of Vulcans now gathered around the red “blue hole” that he’d been watching. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

“They appear to be agitated.”

Years ago he might have given her an incredulous look at that statement - but not anymore. Whether it was the bond they shared or plain and simple experience with reading Vulcans, it was clear to him too that the group of Vulcans were upset about something. The way one of the women had her eyes closed and held her hands to chest as if she was trying to meditate on the spot. The way an elderly one kept shifting his robes around as he spoke into a portable communication device. The way several of the younger males were circling the geologic feature. 

Trip gripped T’Pol’s arm, as the sudden realization of ‘ _what’s wrong with this picture_ ’ came to him in a flash. With his other hand he pointed at a rippling surface surrounded by a now collapsed barrier, once section of which was missing. 

“Where’s the child?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this being so long in coming. December and much of January were a little more than I expected and my muse apparently decided to take a holiday break without telling me. 
> 
> Also, it appears some formatting didn't making it into Chapter Two. I've updated that with the proper italics in the necessary places and corrected a few typos, etc. I am looking for a beta that can help with offering an editorial and copywriter eye to this and my upcoming stories, so if you're good at that sort of thing and would like to volunteer, please let me know.

oOo

Trip wasn’t sure which one of them started sprinting down the rest of the path first, rocks and pebbles skittering away from their feet as they ran, but they were both through the austere stone arch of the park in what seemed an instant.

It was like stepping into a vivid painting of Earth’s Cretaceous period that Trip remembered from elementary school - artwork that included giant dinosaurs. So powerful was the sensation that he couldn’t help but slow a bit and give a quick, nervous glance at the tops of the oddly shaped trees, his breath now in hitches due to Vulcan’s gravity.

The mountain monastery shadowed this part of the park in the afternoon sun and he could see the entrance clearly through the treetops. He was surprised to see that the heavy wooden doors were wide open and that a handful of the monks had gathered halfway down the mountainside, peering over the same rocky ledge he and T'Pol had stopped by earlier. He looked away, shaking his head to clear it and catch his breath. The child inside him had been half-expecting to see a brontosaurus nibbling the tops of the trees.

 _Child._ He took a deep breath and picked up the pace to hurry after T'Pol - the landscape, the mountain, and the monastery forgotten once again.

Despite the tangle of tall, curling fronds from thick patches of cycads, wicked looking cactus-like vines laden with berries, and limestone juts creating sharp turns in the park’s pathways, they knew exactly where to go. A small desert flyer with the park’s insignia sped past them overhead and voices became clearer as they rounded each bend.

Though it felt as if it had taken them a geologic age to reach the scene, in fact it was mere minutes. In that short time a small crowd had gathered, and Trip immediately had the sense that someone had taken charge and done the logical thing.

A tall and lanky Vulcan, wearing sturdy and stained work clothes, spoke rapidly into a communicator. After a few sharp words that Trip couldn’t understand, the man snapped the device shut and stepped quickly towards a middle-aged woman exiting the desert flyer that had landed nearby. Closer by, two other men had climbed beyond the broken railing and closer to the edge of the pool, half-hidden now by the sloping sides of the feature. Trip could see a thick strap coiled around the shoulder of one. The young couple, the child’s parents he assumed, clung to the edge of what remained of the ornate railing, eyes locked on the still pool of water below. Four others stood nearby, two young women and an elderly couple, in what appeared to be comforting closeness.

He frowned and coughed. “Why don’t they just…”

He stopped and looked at T'Pol, who turned back towards him and nodded.

“It is likely no one can swim,” she said, in a tone tinged with enough distress that he could hear it in her voice and not just feel it in his mind. Her typically calm visage radiated tension and she gave him a concerned, appraising look. “However, they appear to be doing what they can. We should not have run this distance. You…”  
  


“I’m fine,” Trip cut her off. Then, more gently, partly because he instantly regretted his sharpness and partly because he _was_ painfully out of breath, “Really.”

Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply and willed his heart to stop pounding against his chest before he ended up with a headache. “We’re at a lower altitude now. I just need a minute.” Opening his eyes and avoiding hers, he nodded at the scene in front of them. “What are they saying?”

T'Pol looked him up and down for a moment before turning towards the group, listening.

“Attempts are being made to locate the child,” T'Pol translated from the numerous conversations going on. “To bring him to the surface. The park’s botanist has called emergency services and medics. The superintendent has brought what equipment she could think of.” She paused and Trip stepped to her side.

“Apparently no one has ever fallen in.”

“No one?”

“No… Not in their memory, but…” She paused again, listening.

Trip looked from one face to another, feeling powerless yet again. The agitation was palpable. Despite the fact that Vulcans often professed that they experienced no emotions, he knew that they _did_ actually have them. Strong emotions were a part of their ancient history, the violence of them etched across the very landscape they stood on, though time worn now into soft shadows and gone from living memory. The last several years of Starfleet service with and around Vulcans had taught him how important their culture of logic and control was to them, to the strength of their society, to their own peace of mind. But despite the activity around him, Trip was certain now that he could sense a sort of grimness about the group. Despair even.

Vulcans might be able to control their emotions through the application of logic, and conceal any failure to do so via rigidly held bodies and stoic expressions, but their eyes revealed all. The younger man that Trip assumed was the child’s father, had glanced at him when he arrived. Trip instantly recognized, in those Vulcan eyes, the same desperate hope that had gripped him while standing over Elizabeth’s bio-bed in sickbay.

“Not in at least four centuries, according to park records. And even those unfortunates from centuries prior, did not fall into a deep system…”

T'Pol trailed off, her voice bringing him back to the present moment. The way her shoulders suddenly dropped, along with another wave of strong emotion in the back of his mind, made Trip realize it was not the couple that was struggling with feelings of despair, but T'Pol.

“The child is likely…” her voice broke.

_Oh no. Oh HELL no._

Trip grabbed T'Pol hand. _Not so soon after losing their own child!_ The determination in his thoughts must have been a category five hurricane in T'Pol’s mind because her eyes went wide. He mustered everything she’d ever taught him about breathing and control to calm his mind, for both their sakes.

It worked, because another thought occurred to him. He spun her around and grabbed her shoulder to look her in the eye. “I know Vulcan physiology is different from Humans. How long can a Vulcan child hold their breath?”

T'Pol was not reassured by the hopeful thought. “Considerably longer than a Human child. But it has already been too long, and he has not resurfaced.”

“Maybe not here. But… the ranger said… ‘a deep system’. Do they mean a cavern system?”

“Ranger?”

“The park superintendent. Do they have a map?”

T'Pol apparently understood where he was going with that question, because she nodded. Together they hurried over to the two Vulcans near the desert flyer.

“I am…” T'Pol began to introduce herself.

“Commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker. Starfleet.” The middle-aged woman spoke in understandable Standard. “I am Neavik.” Her voice was even and calm but her eyes wide as she glanced from Trip to T'Pol and then briefly up at the mountain monastery. _All of Vulcan probably recognizes us by now_ , Trip thought.

“Do you have a map of the cave system below this feature?” T'Pol asked.

The tall and lanky man, the park’s botanist, handed over a PADD and tapped the screen. A detailed map of the underground aquifer system appeared, with multiple vertical shafts, caverns of every size and long, stair-stepped horizontal systems.

“Evkah and I have discussed the possibility the child may have emerged in a side shaft,” Neavik said, echoing Trip’s own thoughts. Her finger tracing down one vertical shaft to the first horizontal one and up again. “Here. Or here.”

“But those are closed systems,” added Evkah. “There are no surface entrances from those that I have observed.”

Trip examined the map, his heart sinking.

“We have called for submersibles, but it is taking longer than expected to locate a functioning one.” Neavik added. “These maps are old and might not be a reliable source of information.”

“How old?” asked T'Pol.

“Four hundred years.”

Trip’s head shot up and he blinked. “Four _hundred_ years?” The hope he’d had was dwindling fast and the tension he’d felt all afternoon was returning with a vengeance to every muscle in his body.

Evkah regarded him. “The aquifers are performing efficiently. There has been no need for a renewed survey in the last two generations.”

“If the boy tried to surface but became trapped in a side shaft, then there is a chance he is alive,” T'Pol said, her voice quiet.

“Not according to the map,” Neavik contradicted gently. “These…” She tapped the two possible contenders for the child’s location. “…would have no breathable air.”

Evkah canted his head. “It is possible that multiple surface breaches, of any size along here,” he indicated on the map, “over the last four centuries could have brought in surface air. My observations of bacterial colonization of _pfalla_ root structures indicate this may be a possibility…”

That was all Trip needed to know.

He didn’t remember even thinking about it, but in one quick motion he’d dropped his ceremonial robe to the ground and then pulled off his boots. After a moment’s hesitation, in which she looked as if she was weighing whether or not dissuade him from what he was about to do, T'Pol helped him off with his tunic even as he moved towards the gap in the ornate iron fencing. As the group of Vulcans stared, he stripped down to his underwear and then slid down the remaining feet of distance from the path to the edge of the water.

Without explaining anything to anyone, he took a deep breath, slid over the travertine edge and plunged beneath the surface.


End file.
